


I'll Fly, If You're There To Catch Me

by lovemyway (vesper93), mae428



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Basketball, College Life, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, March Madness, Slow Burn, Tropes Everywhere, cheerleading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mae428/pseuds/mae428
Summary: Timmy is a cheerleader, he's been cheering since he can remember. He loves the show, the excitement, the spectacle, and the applause. He loves his teammates to the ends of the earth and back, and knows that he's found his ride or die friends for life. But there is something missing; in someway he feels like he's not being true to himself. He's got an itch in his throat, telling him that there's somethingmore. But what is it? And will this new person, who he meets under theworstcircumstances, actually help him find it?
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 63
Kudos: 104





	1. Meet The Team

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> So, I actually managed to convince the wonderful mae428 to write with me! And as a result this college-tropey, squishy, fluffy fic was born! We're melding our efforts together on each chapter; can you figure out who wrote which bits? 
> 
> We're very excited to work together, but please be aware that we both have other working fics and are very busy humans, so updates might be a bit slow/sporadic. That being said, we hope you really like this fic, and join us on this journey with our faves! 
> 
> Love  
> V & M  
> xxx

The smell of hairspray and men's deodorant was heavy in the air as the door to the changing room opened yet again, the fumes spilling into the communal area as athletes came and went, busy with their pregame preparations.

‘Have you stretched yet?’ 

Timmy looked up from tying his shoelace in a triple knot so that he was absolutely sure that it wouldn’t come undone when he was out on the floor. The vice-captain of the squad, Maia, was looking down at him as she secured the purple bow into her dark brown ponytail. Behind her, a massive poster advertising the upcoming March Madness season blared in bold print and wild colors. It was the first time the Northwestern Wildcats had been invited to be one of the 64 competing teams in over a decade. It was a big deal. The basketball team had been practicing every day, sometimes twice a day, for ages now. Hopefully they wouldn't get knocked out in the first round.

‘No, I was just going to head to the mat and do it now.’

‘Well, hurry up, string bean, only fifteen minutes until we head out,’ she said, before walking off to make sure everyone else was where they needed to be. Normally, this would be the captain’s job, but their captain, Allie, had taken a knee to the head during a catch over the weekend, and the trainer had her off for the week due to a mild concussion. She was still there, of course, but was sitting on the mat in her tracksuit, her knees drawn up to her chest. She’d be okay, but she was looking a little glum.

Timmy forced himself not to roll his eyes at Maia’s retreating back; he knew Maia wasn’t being bitchy for the sake of it. She held everybody in the squad to a high standard and drove them to constantly be better and do better. If that meant occasionally giving the team the sharp edge of her tongue, then so be it. They weren’t college champions or anything, and no All-Stars fell over themselves to come to Northwestern, but that didn’t mean they didn’t try hard and push themselves to be the best they possibly could. 

He’d been cheerleading since elementary school because that had been the _only_ option when it came to doing anything remotely artsy related then. His elementary school had had junior sports teams, little leagues, etc. but no drama club, no dance - it had all been sports. The cheerleading aspect had only started a few years before he did when some parents complained that their kids didn’t want to _only_ play baseball or football, that they wanted something a bit different. So he’d joined the girls in cheerleading; the only boy on the team. He’d been teased mercilessly by some of the boys, especially when he got to middle school and continued cheerleading and dancing. Somehow, this just made him more determined to continue doing it. He enjoyed it: he liked the team spirit, he liked learning the routines, he liked the show and spectacle of it, the costumes, the music, and (if he was being perfectly honest with himself) the applause. And, if that wasn't enough, in some way he liked the fact that some people _disliked_ that he did it. He might be shy, but that didn’t mean he was a doormat. There was a difference. In high school, both he and his sister, Pauline, had been on the cheer team and in the dance squad. That was, of course, until she graduated two years ahead of him and went off to Brown. But by then it didn’t matter, he was Timmy and he was a cheerleader, and a damn good tumbler to boot.

Once he’d finished with his shoes and made sure his eyeliner was right (yes, the guys wore make-up under the lights too), he headed over to the warm-up mat, cycling quickly through some burpees, push-ups, and jumping jacks, just to get the blood pumping; there was no point stretching cold. Then he flopped down next to Saoirse, who was about three steps ahead of him and was currently sitting in a box split with her face on the floor in front of her. He started stretching out his arms, neck, and shoulders, tilting his head back to make sure his neck was warmed up.

‘Maia giving you a hard time again?’ Saoirse asked, her voice muffled by the material of the mat. 

‘Not really,’ he said, ‘She just doesn’t want us to get injured. Speaking of, where’s Flo?’ 

‘Tape,’ was all Saoirse said, as she walked her hands even further forward, forcing her stomach closer to the mat. 

Timmy looked over to the bench where the athletic trainer was sat with Flo, who was currently getting her wrist taped up _and_ trying to stretch at the same time. Yesterday, during practice, Flo had landed weirdly on her wrist during a tumble - nothing too serious, mind - and she was having it taped mostly as a precaution. 

‘Need me to push you?’ Timmy asked Saoirse once he’d finished his own stretching cycle and was feeling limber and loose. 

‘If you would,’ she said, sitting up and bringing one of her legs up to the side of her head as far as she could (which was just past her ear without any help). Gently then, and aware of just how flexible she could be, Timmy started pushing on her calf and holding her foot, to get it to go past the middle of her head. He considered himself to be pretty stretchy, but Sersh seemed to take it to another level. Then again, she’d been doing gymnastics and dance since she was about three, so he probably shouldn’t be surprised. It’s why she was always picked to fly and be at the top of the pyramid. Tonight there was no pyramid, nothing that tricky. Tonight was just to entertain, pump up the crowd, do some jumps and tumbles that made people go “ooooh,” and that was as far as it went. No need to risk doing anything crazy for a pregame show like this.

They all knew the pregame warm-up routine, and as he looked around the mat he could see his teammates in the various stages of it, making sure they were all ready to hit the floor in a few minutes’ time. There was absolutely no point heading out onto the floor limping, you had to hit it full on and running. They were there to pump things up after all. 

Saoirse grinned across at him as he helped her to her feet, ready for the huddle. Flo had joined them now and was running on the spot, full of nervous energy. Even though they were down the bottom of the Welsh Ryan Arena, at least 500m from the court, they could hear the rumble and murmur of the thousands of people waiting for the game to begin, shuffling around in their seats or getting up to get drinks. Their arena held nearly 8,000 people, and they were expecting a pretty much full house tonight. It was usually like this for home games.

‘Are you alright?’ Timmy asked Florence, watching as she bounced on the balls of her feet. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine, just ready to go,’ she said, her smile bright. The fact that Flo was the least experienced of them showed at moments like this, and Timmy gave her hand a squeeze in reassurance. 

He remembered Saoirse doing the same thing right before his first game. This wasn’t Flo’s first by any stretch, but he knew how nerve-wracking the whole thing could be. The entire cheer squad, including the freshmen, were always brought back to campus early, along with the rest of the autumn athletic teams, to start practicing. It was a great opportunity for the freshmen to get acquainted with the team, as well as get acquainted with college life. Timmy had relished the opportunity to move into his dorm early, settle in, and get to know his fellow cheerleaders.

Much like Greek life, each incoming freshman was assigned a mentor, a sophomore on the squad to help them adjust to life on campus, as well as life on an athletic team. At the close of their first week together, the squad threw a big party at one of the off-campus houses, complete with kegs, pizza, and good music; it was there that the mentor/mentee list was released.

Timmy had been scared shitless. There were some intense people on the team, ones who maybe took cheerleading a little too seriously for his liking. There were the party kids, the nerds, the artsy kids - a wide range of student life represented by their relatively small team. When Saoirse jumped up in front of everyone, grinning from ear to ear, Timmy’s heart leapt in his chest. He and Saoirse had gotten close over the past seven days, as close as two people could become between rigorous workouts and routines. He hoped he’d be lucky enough to get Saoirse as a mentor.

‘There once was a boy named Timmy,’ she began, her lilting Irish accent almost drowned out as cheers erupted amongst the team. The captains shushed them so that Saoirse could continue her limerick. Tim felt his face heating up, cheeks flushing as Saoirse began again. ‘There once was a boy named Timmy, tall and lithe and skinny. He’s also a rapper, always dresses so dapper. And we love to watch him shimmy.’

Tim didn’t know he could blush any more than he already was, but he proved himself wrong. Saoirse’s poem was a harkening back to when Tim had a little too much to drink at one of their after-practice parties and ended up dancing on a table. Not to mention his rapper alter-ego, one he thought he could leave behind in high school. He jumped up amidst the applause and bounded into Saoirse’s arms, accepting a purple carnation from her and sticking the stem between his teeth. Saoirse kissed his cheek as they posed for a picture and they’d been inseparable ever since.

She was a _godsend_ for his first year on campus. It was a tough adjustment, especially considering he had to juggle schoolwork, a social life, _and_ an athletics schedule. But Saoirse was there through it all: the ups, downs, and everything in between. When Timmy’s roommate invited a girl over for the night, Saoirse let him crash on her floor. When it came time to pick classes for the next semester, Saoirse worked through all of his options and helped him build his schedule. When he missed his family, Saoirse let him cry in her lap and she even held back his hair after he had too much to drink at a post-game celebration. They were practically attached at the hip, fast friends with a clearly unbreakable bond. She easily accepted his physical affection and one was never seen without the other.

In terms of cheer, with Saoirse’s help, Timmy acclimated quickly to the team, making friends with nearly everyone. They ran through stretches and moves together and Tim ended up being one of the first freshmen to nail their routines. ‘Good job, Pony!’ she called out as Timmy came barreling over to her after killing it on the mat. He shoved his face into her neck, the two of them laughing as they stumbled into a tight hug.

When the next batch of freshmen came in, Timmy and Saoirse poured over their profiles, fun little one-sheeters they filled out with questions detailing music preferences or favorite cheer moves. Timmy would become the new freshman’s mentor, just as Saoirse had been his, and Sersh would reign over the two of them, imparting her never-ending wisdom.

‘Oooh, look at this one,’ Saoirse said, lying across Timmy’s bed. She passed him a piece of paper with a photo attached. He snatched it just as he shoved some pretzels in his mouth. ‘From Oxford,’ she supplied, putting on a posh accent. They were due to meet the freshmen in a few days and had to get their requests for mentees in by the evening so that Maia and Allie could make the final decisions.

‘Oh, I like her,’ Tim said immediately, eyes roving over a round, pretty face. ‘Florence Pugh, goes by Flo. Interested in majoring in Fine Art or Art History, listens to a lot of folk and international music…’ Tim trailed off as he read the rest of her sheet and then grinned over at Saoirse. ‘I’m _obsessed_.’

Over the next week, Timmy tried to be welcoming to _all_ of the freshmen, of course, but he found himself already developing a soft spot for Flo. She was bubbly and gregarious and strong and overall amazing. She talked nonstop, just like him, yet had a very sophisticated air about her, given her young age. She’d also been dancing since she was three, just like Sersh, as her mom was a dance teacher, and started gymnastics by five.

On the night of the mentor/mentee reveal, Timmy was practically bursting with excitement. Saoirse had to end up calming him down with a few pets to the top of his head. When it came his turn. Timmy skipped up to the front of the room, clutching a white carnation for Florence and, as soon as he was situated, Saoirse started beat-boxing. The squad whooped and Timmy launched into a little rap about Florence, incorporating all the things he’d learned about her over the past few days, trying to spin words to rhyme them with her name. When he was done, Florence practically flew up to him and they almost went tumbling down in a crushing hug.

Florence seemed to always be bouncing and vibrating, which paired well with Timmy’s energy, and Saoirse became a calming presence for both of them. Flo easily folded herself into their friendship and the three of them spent nearly all of their time together, between cheer, studying, and just hanging out. Florence had a penchant for frat parties, something Saoirse didn’t particularly enjoy, so Timmy became her +1 at every party, sweet-talking the guys at the door into letting a guy into their house.

On the team, Flo was a powerhouse. Her boundless energy translated well in being a tumbler and a dancer and she always left Timmy absolutely gobsmacked at her talent on the mats. Not to mention her talent with a paintbrush and her amazing music recommendations. Right before her first game-time performance, Timmy grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, trying to impart the same comfort that Saoirse always did for him. Florence grinned at him then, her smile lighting up her entire face, and squeezed back before they ran out for the first football game of the year.

That was four months ago and they’d only grown closer since then; Florence and Saoirse had even come home with Timmy to his parents’ place for Thanksgiving that year. He couldn’t be happier: he loved his school, loved the squad, and had the best friends anyone could ever ask for. Now if he could just find someone to date, a topic he and the girls complained about endlessly, his college life would basically be perfection. Despite having a little over 8,000 students, the pickings at Northwestern seemed slim. Saoirse had her sights set on someone from the Film Studies department (she refused to reveal who) and Flo openly gushed about one of the guys on the tennis team (a crush that was unrequited). Timmy, on the other hand, hadn't found anyone worthy of his time. Not yet, at least.

The stadium was packed, as he’d been anticipating. He could only see the first five rows or so, as the rest of the stadium was lost in darkness as the lights had already gone down. The spotlights drifted over the floor and the team’s mascot was already out on the floor, the crowd cheering and doing waves as directed. Game night was a time for everyone to come out and have fun, students, alumni, and staff alike.

He stood nervously on the edge, gripping both Saoirse and Flo’s hands. It was a tradition: you must hold hands with someone before doing a routine, otherwise who knows what might happen? A ridiculously ugly sounding Wildcat growl echoed through the speakers. The first time Timmy heard that, he nearly twisted an ankle (thankfully only during a practice). Jarring as it is, it’s beloved by students and quickly followed by a handclap sequence led by the pep band.

An emphatic ‘Go ‘Cats’ fist pump rocked the stands and the student section screamed, ‘It’s time to move the chains!’ as the cheer team ran out onto the hardwood floor. 

‘Let’s go Wildcats, let’s go!’ 

The yell went up as they ran out onto the parquet floor and any vestiges of nerves that he had fell away. The music filled his mind; he’d practiced this, he knew his moves, and he dived into his first tumble, spotting his matching tumbler on a parallel to him.

The crowd _ooh_ ed and _ahh_ ed as some of the flyers were tossed into the air in relatively simple tricks and baskets. Timmy wasn’t one of the stunt guys; he simply wasn’t strong enough to chuck the girls 15 feet in the air, despite the biceps and triceps he’d developed from years of doing the sport. He did spot, however, and he kept his eyes fixed on Saoirse as two of the stunters held one of her feet and she executed some liberty poses. He might not be strong enough to toss the girls skyward, but he took his job as a spotter very seriously; if one of the stunters wobbled, then he could be the difference between Saoirse falling from 20 feet or tumbling down mitigated by him. 

The pregame routine was only about 90 seconds, and as far as Timmy was concerned it was over before he’d even had time to really think about it. They finished in their final pose, and then with another rousing cheer headed over to the benches on the sidelines where water and towels were waiting for them. Despite it only being a short routine, he was still sweating profusely and was glad for the towel to mop his forehead when he sat down. 

He took a gulp of water and then cheered and yelled as the team made their way out onto the floor, stamping his feet and clapping along with everyone else. He leaned forward on his knees to watch the game, Saoirse and Flo mirroring him on either side, all of their faces a picture of concentration. Despite the cliche, he actually really cared about the game and wanted to see the team do as well as they possibly could. He watched the jump ball, and the game began. 


	2. Lockdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with chapter two! Sorry for a bit of a delay in getting this to you guys; we've both been super busy what with everything going on. Hopefully we all have some newfound time for reading and writing and all those great things! Please enjoy chapter 2 :)

‘So, started seeing anyone yet, Armie?’

‘Nope,’ Armie said, not expanding any further on Ashton’s question. He took a swig out of the beer bottle he was holding, before glancing at his phone for the tenth time since he sat down. Only four or so minutes until play.

‘Dude, it’s been like three months since you broke up with Josh,’ Ashton said, looking down at him pointedly. Ashton was sitting behind him on the benches with Tyler, whilst Nick was sitting next to him. 

Armie shrugged. ‘So?’

Ashton just shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could go that long without sex. Just sayin’.’

‘Who said I’ve been going without sex?’ he shot back, even though this was the truth. He didn’t usually go for casual liaisons, except on very rare occasions. 

‘And Ash, we know that’s not true; you didn’t have sex for like three years between breaking up with Britney and starting to date Lucy,’ teased Tyler.

‘How do you know?!’ said Ash, ‘I might’ve been, I just didn’t tell you!’

‘Ash, you’ve got a motormouth when it comes to that sort of thing,’ came Nick’s voice from over Armie’s shoulder. ‘You’d have told us. Probably in great detail.’

‘ _ Whatever _ ,’ Ash huffed, ‘Doesn’t negate my original point that Arms needs to get back on the proverbial horse.’ 

‘I’ll get back in the saddle when I meet someone I actually want to…  _ ride _ ,’ said Armie, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.  They talked through the pregame performance, Armie only sparing a glance at the cheer team before turning in his seat to talk to Nick about their plans for after the game. Before he knew it, the crowd was cheering, the pep band was playing, and the teams from both colleges were running out onto the court. Armie righted himself on the bench, focusing on the jump ball and then tracking the players.

‘What about number twelve?’ Ashton asked, nudging Armie’s side and causing a bit of beer to slosh onto his fingers. ‘He’s hot.’

‘Not my type,’ Armie said right back, eyes following number twelve as he ran down the court. He had long, flowing hair and certain to have eyes so blue Armie could tell what color they were even from up in the stands. Yeah, no thanks to dating the guy that was practically his twin After the third failed suggestion, Ash finally dropped the subject, much to Armie’s pleasure.

He loved his friends, really, but sometimes they took things a bit too far. Nick was the only exception, though. They’d been friends since kindergarten, basically attached at the hip since the age of five. Tyler, who Nick and Armie met in freshman year, was easily folded into their friendship. And so when Ashton, Tyler’s little brother, started school, he sort of latched onto them. Armie didn’t mind, though. Ash was cool, despite being younger, and so their friend group was solidified. He and Nick both continued at Northwestern for their graduate programs; Armie opted for a JD in International Human Rights while Nick continued his Film & Media Studies education. Tyler, neither wanting to move from Chicago nor continue school, started working at a local gallery while continuing to do his artwork on the side. Ashton was still an undergrad, now in his junior year. When Northwestern scores, the four of them are on their feet in an instant, cheering wildly. Once they’re seated again, Ashton is still buzzing and Armie is reminded of the year they all lived together. So many sleepless nights due to Ashton’s boundless energy. As much as Armie loved his friends and loved spending time with them, he was glad they all decided to get their own places after graduation. 

The first half of the game absolutely flew by and, soon enough, the pep band was playing and the cheer team was running out onto the court. Armie was half watching as they began their routine, not totally paying attention to what they were doing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like cheerleading, he appreciated what they did and could see with his own eyes that it was a very athletic pursuit. He just didn’t really understand it, or the appeal. The crowd  _ ooh _ ed as some of the bigger guys threw a petite girl up in the air and then caught her, other members of the team watching carefully with their arms raised in order to catch her should anything go awry. Yeah, he definitely had a lot of respect for cheerleaders; there weren’t many sports where you risked being dropped from 20ft if people weren’t watching what they were doing. That took a hell of a lot of team trust. 

‘What about him?’ said Ashton leaning forward again and pointing. 

Armie rolled his eyes without even looking at the guy he was gesturing to. He thought Ashton had given this one up with his failed attempts at picking out a player that Armie would appreciate. 

‘I’m serious!’ said Ashton, ‘Look!’ 

Armie looked at where he was pointing, spotting a thickset guy with dark brown hair. His thighs looked like they were thicker than Armie’s, which was saying something. He was one of the guys who’d chucked the smaller girl up in the air, his muscles and size being utilized to get the lift needed in order to toss an entire human person above his head. 

‘What? No, Ashton,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘Not really my type.’ 

He heard Ashton shake his head rather than saw it, but he definitely felt him smack him on the arm in annoyance. 

‘Not him, idiot,’ said Ashton, ‘I know that’s not who you go for. Him.’ 

Armie had been about to curse him out for hitting him, but he glanced back at the cheer team to see who he was gesturing at. Now that was a bit more like it, he thought. He’d never seen the guy before, which wasn’t overly unusual; Northwestern was a big place. But he had watched plenty of games before and was surprised he’d never really clocked him on the cheer team before. Having said that, he admitted to himself, it was extremely rare that he paid any particular attention. 

‘Well?’ Ashton said, a smile in his voice. 

‘Hmmm,’ said Armie, trying to maintain some modicum of superiority over the younger man, ‘I can’t really tell from here… but it’s certainly the best guess of the night so far.’ 

Ashton scoffed and sat back, clearly triumphant. What Armie had said was technically true: it was Ashton’s closest pick of the night to his preferences, and he couldn’t exactly see the guy properly from here. For here he looked to be about two inches tall; so most of the detail was lost. What he could tell, however, was that he was very slim, but clearly muscly at the same time; he also had a shock of very dark brown, almost black, curly hair, that framed an angular face and jaw. Armie couldn’t see his eyes clearly from here, couldn’t really tell their color due to the flashing lights and the distance. If he was a betting man, however, he’d guess brown or hazel, given the rest of the guys coloring. That would be cute: a nice cozy hazel or warm brown. 

Yeah, it had been a good pick by Ashton, but Armie sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that and let him gloat for the rest of the night. The guy definitely looked like someone he might go for were he looking for someone to pick up (which of course, he told himself, he wasn’t actively looking). Just from looking at him from across the stands and down onto the court, he couldn’t tell the first thing about him. The cheerleader could be the biggest douchecanoe this side of Chicago, in which case any attractive features he might have would fade extremely fast. He liked people to have spirit; not be an arrogant asshole. There was a massive difference. 

He finished off his beer still looking at the guy but trying not to make it look like he was staring. He knew the other guys around him would pick up on that and he would never hear the end of it. So, he tried to keep one eye on the brown-haired guy, and an ear on the conversation so that he could pretend he was paying attention.

The cheer squad finished their routine, and he watched as they ran off to the side of the court. He could see how much effort it had taken by the fact that he could see the sweat shining on the guy’s skin from here. He saw him grab a towel and a bottle of water, taking a swig and running the towel over his face and through his hair, making the curls even wilder than they had been before.

‘… and that’s what he said, wasn’t it, Armie?’

He heard his name spoken by Tyler, and turned towards the source, ‘Huh?’

‘You didn’t hear anything that I just said, did you?’ said Ty.

‘No!’ cackled Ashton, ‘He’s too busy looking at the sexy cheerleader I picked out.’

Armie blushed furiously (thankfully it was dark), as Nick leaned forward, ‘Ooooh, which one?’

Ashton pointed out the brunette to the other two guys and was met with noises of approval. The three other guys might not be gay (although he was pretty sure Tyler and Nick batted for both teams when they wanted to), but they could definitely appreciate an attractive guy when they saw one, without feeling like doing so somehow threatened their masculinity. It was one of the reasons why they were such good friends; a lot of the toxic masculinity bullshit that dudes in their early-to-mid-twenties seemed to have an affinity for had just about passed them by.

‘He is pretty cute,’ Nick agreed, ‘Even from this distance.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Tyler said with a grin, ‘Go get him, tiger!’

Armie swatted out with the hand not currently holding his beer bottle, his face still hot with his blush, ‘Shut the fuck up and watch the game.’

The other guys cackled and fell about laughing as the team ran back out onto the court, and play resumed. This half seemed to fly by, the other team in dogged pursuit, but Northwestern always managed to stay a couple of points ahead. The last few plays were nerve-wracking though, as the game could still go either way. They were on the edge of their seats until the final whistle blew and the game was secured for the Wildcats. A tumult of clapping, cheering, and whooping broke out on their side of the stadium, and the cheer team was on their feet with the pep band, doing some improvised tricks in celebration of the win. 

After the game, the rush out of the stadium was unreal. Hundreds of people filtered out onto the street, all whooping and cheering after Northwestern’s victory. Armie’s group joined in on the raucous battle cries as they pushed their way through the crowds toward the main street in town. Every bar was bound to be packed, especially after a win, but Armie, Nick, and Tyler have been loyal to Bat 17 since freshman year. They managed to hop on one of the downtown-bound shuttles, all 4 of them squeezing on just before the doors closed.

‘Fuck, this is insane!’ Ashton said over the chatter on the shuttle.

‘You should be used to it by now, little bro,’ Tyler chided as he clapped Ashton on the shoulder. There was a loud cry from the back of the shuttle and soon everyone was singing Northwestern’s fight song as they barreled down the road. They were downtown in less than ten minutes and everyone stumbled out of the shuttle into the crisp night air. Armie took in a few deep breaths, stretching out his frame outside the confines of the shuttle. Public transport was not really built for someone of his stature.

‘Dude, that last play was unreal,’ Nick said, wrapping an arm around Armie as they headed toward the bar.

‘I know! We were fuckin’ flying man. Can’t believe we won. Bodes well for the tournament.’

‘Hopefully this is a good sign for the rest of the season.’ They reached their destination within seconds and Nick hopped forward to open the door with a flourish.

‘After you.’ He bowed, letting Armie and Tyler through first before stepping right in front of Ashton.

‘Hey!’ Ash cried from behind him, trying to shove his way up to the front of the group. But considering the already packed bar, his plight was useless, so he settled on being the last of his friends to get a drink.

Once they finally had drinks in hand, the boys pushed their way over to their usual spot. It had perfect access to both the bar and the bathroom, making it the ideal corner in the place. There was a little group of freshmen standing around the high-top table, the shiny surface slightly sticky with residue alcohol, but the guys didn’t even have to say a word before they scurried away.

‘Man, it feels good to be 6’5” at times like this,’ Armie boasted, puffing his chest out a bit as he leaned against their table. Nick laughed and called him a dick.

The guys chatted for a bit, Armie even picking up their second round once their beers reached dangerously low levels. As soon as he was back at their table, the door opened and there was a rush of cold air as about twenty more people cram themselves into the bar.

‘This place is always so nuts after games,’ Ash complained, ‘I don’t get why we always have to come here.’

‘Because it’s the best.’ Nick was the first to come to Bat 17’s defense. ‘And the bartenders are fucking amazing.’

‘You only say that because they hire the girls with the biggest boobs,’ Armie shot, with no particular heat. 

‘So what if I am?

‘Pig,’ Armie accused, but it’s fond. They went back and forth at each other for a bit until Ashton hit Armie’s bicep, ‘Dude, if you keep hitting me, I’m gonna punch your fucking lights out.’

_ ‘Look _ !’ Ashton said, irritation clear in his voice.

Armie’s eyes tracked to where Ashton was pointing, his brows hitting his hairline when he sees a hoard of people in matching purple tracksuits at the bar. ‘Yeah? There are people at the bar?’

‘It’s the  _ cheer team _ , Armie,’ Ashton explained slowly, as if Armie was at a 2nd-grade level. ‘You know, with that cute guy I found for you?’

Armie huffed and rolled his eyes. ‘Would you quit it?’ he asked, flicking the side of Ashton’s head. ‘I can pick my own guys, thank you very much.’ But Armie’s gaze had already found the dark-haired boy. He was leaning against the bar, his head tilted back as he laughed along with a blonde girl. Armie spared a brief glance at the girl: round face, pointed nose, pink cheeks, cute. His attention was quickly turned back to the boy, though. He looked flushed, even in the dim purple light of the bar, light which made the cut of his cheekbones even sharper. Armie cocked his head as he studied the kid’s profile: unassuming forehead, long nose, plump lips, sharp chin. Yeah, he was definitely attractive. He was standing very close to the blonde girl - maybe she was his girlfriend? Time to find out. There was absolutely no point even beginning to think about this guy if he turned out to be as straight as a ruler. 

‘I think I need another drink,’ Armie grunted after chugging the last of his beer and shoving past Ashton to head to the bar.

Armie approached slowly and tactfully, trying to get as close to the cheerleader as possible without causing a scene. He managed to slip into their crowd under the guise of getting to the bar (his biggest pet peeve was people blocking the bartenders, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when there were such high stakes). Armie leaned over the bar in an attempt to get a better look at the kid. Thankfully, the cheerleader right in front of him who was blocking his view took it upon herself to move, to go and find one of her friends. Armie was now right behind the blonde girl and he took a deep breath before lifting his head and looking over at the boy.

Of course, right at that moment, the kid decided to look up too, their eyes locking over the bouncing blonde head between them. And holy shit. Armie found himself face to face with possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Armie was glad he didn’t have any beer in his mouth because his jaw fell open at the sight. The kid had these shocking green eyes, bright even in the light of the bar. Definitely  _ not _ hazel or brown as he’d previously suspected. Nobody should have eyes that color, it simply wasn’t fair; men and women were bound to be spellbound by them, regardless of their sexuality. They both just silently stared at one another, the girl in front of them still chattering away.

But she noticed and she hit Timmy’s chest, letting out a very prim, ‘Timothée Chalamet, are you even listening to me?’

_ Teemotay? _ Armie wondered, still in this makeshift staring match.  _ The fuck kind of name is that? _

The girl whipped her head around and she craned her neck nearly all the way back in order to look up at Armie. ‘Oooh,’ she breathed, wearing a shit-eating grin as she turned back to her friend. ‘I get it.’

A bottle crashed to the ground somewhere near them, everyone startling at the noise before there’s a loud cheer. Armie took that as his moment to make his grand escape, hurrying back to his table without a new beer.

‘So,’ Ash prompted, ‘how’d it go?’

‘How’d what go?’ Armie mumbled. ‘I went to get a beer, asshole.’

‘And yet you come back empty-handed.’

‘Fuck off.’ Armie shoved Ashton in the direction of the bar, demanding drinks for the table.

As they continued to drink, the ebb and flow of the bar started to steady as people began making rounds to some of the other establishments downtown. By the time it was midnight, Armie’s group, the cheerleaders, and a few clumps of undergrads are the only people left in the bar.

‘Alright,’ Tyler said, stretching his arms out around 12:30. ‘I should go, I’ve got to work on my installation at like 7 am.’

‘Ugh, bro, really? It’s fucking early!’ Nick lamented. He was always one for late nights, even in their high school days. Armie didn’t say anything, but he was rather keen on staying too. At least until the cheerleaders left. He kept glancing their way the entire time, hoping none of his friends noticed.

‘Look, you guys can stay as long as you like, all I’m saying is – ’

The door flew open and five armed cops come in, stomping the snow off their boots as the door swung shut. ‘We need everyone to—can we cut the music please?’ The cop’s booming voice cut through the revelry and everything went dead silent as everyone stopped talking and stared over at the police. ‘Thank you. We’re going to have to place the area on lockdown. A suspicious package was found at an establishment further down the street and with so many people out tonight we ask you to remain inside while we investigate. There is no immediate cause for alarm, but it is safer for you to remain indoors rather than attempt to leave the premises. We’ll have one officer stationed outside and two inside with you. Please let them know if you have any questions.’

With that, the officer turned on his heel and went back out with three of his comrades, two staying inside as promised. As soon as the door was shut again, the bar erupted into chaotic conversation, everyone gesturing wildly and looking mildly panicked.

‘Well fuck,’ said Nick, voicing exactly what everyone was thinking. 


	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they're gonna need a second chance at these...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's staying safe and well! We love reading all your support of this story, and of course we are in contact with Netflix to make a YA TV show of it (we wish!). 
> 
> Stay home. Stay safe. :) 
> 
> <3 
> 
> xxx

Timmy nearly pushed Saoirse off her barstool in annoyance when she checked her watch for the eighth time in an hour. Clearly she was desperate to be off and home.

'They'll tell us when we can leave,' said Flo, noticing her doing it yet again, a nervous look on her face.

'I just wish it would hurry up! At this rate, there's no way I'm getting up at 7.30...,' said Saoirse, annoyed, ‘But I guess… safety first.’ 

'7.30?!' Timmy asked, ignoring the second part of her sentence. 'Why the fuck were you getting up at 7.30 on a Saturday?'

'It's the running club's "Good Morning Start" at 8.30 in the college quad,' said Saoirse, ‘I go every week. You would have noticed if you were around at that time.’

'Sounds horrendous,' he said, feigning a vomiting motioning. ‘Cheerleading is more than enough exercise for me…’

‘Yeah well, I like running,’ said Saoirse, ‘it clears the mind.’

‘Sure it does,’ he said with an eyeroll, ‘Be right back, going to the bathroom. Can you get me another beer whilst I’m gone?’

‘Thanks for that information, and yeah sure,’ Flo said with a giggle, as he slipped off his barstool and headed for the back, down a side corridor and to where the bathrooms were located.

The bathroom lock noted ‘VACANT’ in green so he clicked the latch down and pushed open the door, probably a bit too enthusiastically as it swung wide. He realized his mistake about half a second later as he was greeted by a side-on view of the six-foot-something guy he was eyeing up at the bar earlier. But now, rather than being fully composed and flirty, he was standing at a urinal, dick in hand, just finishing up. The first thought that crossed his mind was: _he is proportional in all the ways it counts_ , and then a millisecond after that: _I really shouldn’t be in here_.

‘Oh fuck, I’m so sorry!’ he gabbled, not sure that the other guy had even noticed he was there before the door crashed back into the opposite wall causing him to jump and look around, noticing him in the open doorway. Timmy blushed beet red and leaped for the door handle, managing to grab it and pull the door closed again, his dignity in complete tatters. How was it that _he_ was the one who had forfeited his dignity when it wasn’t him who had been caught dick in hand?

He leaned against the wall next to the door, trying to get his blush back under control and rationalizing in his brain; who leaves the door unlocked when they go pee? Who designed a single-use bathroom so that the urinal was at a 90-degree angle to the door? He hoped the floor was going to swallow him up momentarily and allow him to escape his own embarrassment. Normally, he would have bolted and demanded that they leave the bar immediately so that he didn’t have to face the guy again, but a) he still really needed to pee, so wasn’t going to get overly far and b) the furthest he could go was the front door of the bar as the police had made it patently clear that no one was coming or going anytime soon.

The feeling of embarrassment intensified about ten seconds later when the guy from the bathroom emerged, looking perfectly collected.

‘Hey man, sorry about that, I thought it was empty,’ said Timmy apologetically, looking firmly at the guy’s left shoulder, in order to avoid his eyes, in case he saw some weird emotion. He knew jack shit about this guy; he could be some weirdly aggressive homophobe or something, who thought that Timmy had walked into the bathroom purely to perv on him. Given the looks that they had exchanged at the bar earlier, he suspected probably not, but you could never be sure. Appearances could be deceiving.

‘Don’t worry about it dude,’ said the other guy, clapping him gently on the arm and then started to walk away, calling back over his shoulder, ‘It’s free now. And watch the lock… it’s dodgy.’

Timmy’s face, only recently returning to vaguely normal color, turned tomato red once again. He fled into the bathroom, almost slamming the door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment or two before turning back and ensuring the lock was firmly in place. The other guy had been right, it looked like it was locked when in fact you had to turn it again to clunk into place so that the door was properly secure. At least nobody was going to burst in on _him_ , he thought ruefully.

**

‘What took you so long?’ Flo asked as he returned to the bar a bit later.

‘Do you want details?’ he snapped waspishly as he sat down, ‘There was a queue, doofus.’

‘Alright,’ she said holding her hands up, ‘chill out.’

‘And I might also have walked in on Mr. Super-Hottie from the bar earlier because he hadn’t locked the door,’ he cringed.

‘Nice one,’ said Flo with her acerbic British humor. ‘So, do you want me to murder you now or later as a kindness?’

‘Preferably now,’ he said, ‘seeing as he’s sat just _over there_ ,’

‘Nonsense!’ said Saoirse primly, leaning over the bar and motioning to the bartender, ‘Another beer, please.’

‘Saoirse, what are you doing?!’ Timmy hissed at her.

‘Don’t be such a wimp Timmy,’ she said primly. ‘He’s the one who didn’t lock the door properly, not you. But, if you’re feeling that embarrassed, take him this bottle of beer and apologize to him.’

Timmy’s eyes widened at the prospect of having to go talk to the guy again when in a preferable world, he would have avoided him for the rest of his natural life. Saoirse didn’t give him much of a choice though as she put the beer in his hand, and shoved him off his bar stool in the direction of the guy and the table where he was sat with his friends.

He looked back at her as he took a step forward, his look clearly conveying his wish that she suffer greatly, but she just smiled blithely back and waved him away with her hand. He managed to take the ten or so steps over to the guy and his friends, they looked like your regular group of dude-bros, although they seemed a fairly friendly bunch. One of them was clearly a little younger than the others, and was currently getting ragged on by another who looked fairly similar to him; Timmy assumed they were probably brothers.

‘Um excuse me?’ he said timidly, causing blue-eyes-from-the-bar/bathroom to look up, and also the younger guy currently getting the piss taken out of him.

‘What’s up?’ said the young guy.

‘Um,’ cursing himself as he started with this again, they’d think that was how he started all of his sentences, ‘I just came to give you this; just to say sorry for earlier.’

Blue eyes smiled, his gaze soft and warm as he shook his head, ‘It’s no worries man, I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Thanks,’ said Timmy, still holding out the bottle of beer. ‘Do you want -,’

‘You can keep it, if you want,’ said blue eyes.

‘Armie, don’t be a dick. He’s offering you free beer!’ said the young guy.

‘I’ve already got a new one,’ Timmy mumbled in response to blue-eyes’ - Armie’s - unasked question.

‘In that case,’ said Armie with a smile, he took the beer from him, ‘thanks.’ Timmy smiled in response and turned to go.

‘Wait!’

Timmy turned back a moment later as the voice called out. Armie was twisted in his seat to look at him, ‘Why don’t you and your friends come and join us? We’re gonna be stuck in here for a while. Could use some extra company compared to these idiots.’

Timmy couldn’t help but smirk as his friends let out noises of indignation. ‘Uh, yeah sure. I’ll just go ask Sersh and Flo… be right back.’ 

**

‘Armie what the _fuck_?’ Tyler hissed as they watched the guy go back toward the bar and his friends, ‘Why’d you invite him to hang with us?’

‘His _name_ is Teemotay,’ Armie said, looking down at his beer bottle and picking at the label. ‘Anyway, I didn’t think he’d say yes, I was just being polite. But hey… you were the ones ragging on me earlier to go over to him.’

Ashton let out a whoop of success and Nick slapped Armie’s arm with approval. ‘Good for you, bro,’ he said. ‘You’re usually so shit at making the first move.’

Armie just rolled his eyes and kept his eyes trained on his beer bottle. Teemotay came back with two pretty girls in tow, girls Armie vaguely recognized from the cheer team, including the one he’d seen chatting with Teemotay earlier at the bar.

‘I’m Timmy. This is Flo,’ the kid said by way of explanation to the wider group. The blonde girl with the round face raised her hand with a wave and smiled. ‘And that’s Saoirse, said like inertia.’

‘But you can call me Sersh,’ said the other blonde in a lilting Irish accent. She had sharp, almost masculine cheekbones, but they somehow made her look all the more striking. She confidently hopped up on the vacant seat next to Ashton, leaving Florence and Timmy to fend for themselves. They grabbed empty seats from a nearby table, Flo darting for the head position so that Timmy had to squish himself next to Armie and one of the other guys. Armie watched as Timmy and the girls seemed to communicate without words, sharing a few glances between the three of them; clearly they’d known each other a while.

The guys went through introductions and they chatted for a bit, going through the usual bullshit of what year they’re in, what they were studying, and where they were from. Armie couldn’t look at Timmy for more than a second at a time, mostly keeping his eyes on his beer or the table. Timmy’s eyes were just so _green_ , so _alluring_ , that he was sure he’d do something stupid (perhaps start drooling?) if he looked at them for too long. He could feel those green eyes upon him more than once, but he resolutely looked at one of his own friends whenever he felt their burning gaze. He just knew he’d start blushing like a wallflower if he actually looked at Timmy. He focused in on Ashton who was currently trying to mimic Flo’s British accent, and failing badly. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a loud exclamation of, ‘Oh shit!’ from the other side of the bar. All heads turned in that direction only to find some kid stumbling out of his chair. ‘Shit, shit, shit! My friend is down the street at Village Pizza.’ He started pulling at his hair, his eyes wide with panic as he read the screen of his phone. ‘He says it’s really a bomb, planted just a few buildings down, and that they can’t diffuse it!’

There was a bit of panic as people started whispering to one another, a few people getting up from their tables, fumbling around, unsure of what to do, a couple of people looking at the door and the armed officers standing there. The kid strode toward the door, mumbling something about arguing with the cops in an attempt to get them out.

Armie, without a second thought, hopped off his chair and stopped the guy with a strong hand on his arm. ‘Dude, they told us to stay put.’

‘I’m not planning on staying put, _dude_ ,’ the guy spat back, shoving Armie’s hand off his shoulder. ‘There’s a fucking bomb about to explode and you expect me to stay put?’

‘Is your friend a police officer? Is he part of the bomb squad? Is he actually working on this case or is he getting a drunken slice of pizza?’ Armie crossed his arms over his chest and blocked the door. He knew all the eyes in the bar were on him, but he ignored it, focusing on the kid in front of him. He wasn’t about to let some douche fuck everything up and cause mass panic. If it really was a bomb or emergency situation, then everyone needed to remain as calm as possible, otherwise, people would be injured in the melee. When the kid shook his head no to all of Armie’s questions, Armie raised his brows. ‘So why don’t we leave the instructions up to the professionals? If there were actually a threat, they would take precautions to get us out as quickly and as safely as possible. I trust the officers working, not you, dumbass.’

The two officers stationed inside took the situation from there, patting Armie on the shoulder and thanking him before taking the kid aside to either berate or calm him down. The bar erupted into applause as Armie went back to his table. His face flushed at that and he slunk back into his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible which was no mean feat at 6” 5’. His friends were all clapping and cheering, even the three newcomers. Timmy was looking at him appraisingly, as if trying to figure him out. At least that’s what Armie caught of his expression in the one or two seconds he allowed himself to look at that beautiful face. He knew that Ashton would immediately rag on him if he saw them looking at each other. 

‘That was badass,’ Flo said with a huge smile as his blush subsided.

Armie shrugged and accepted a few jostles and head pats from his friends. ‘It was nothing. The guy was being a dick.’ They sat in silence for a few seconds before Ash started rummaging in his pockets.

‘Anyone for strip poker?’ he teased, pulling out a deck of cards and waving them enticingly.

‘Bro, what the fuck?’ Tyler asks. ‘Do you just…have cards in your pocket at all times?’

Ashton shrugged and began shuffling the deck. ‘You’re thankful for it now, though. We’ve got jack shit to do for God knows how long.’ After a moment, and with a roll of her eyes, Sersh grabbed the deck from Ashton’s hands and started shuffling them quickly and near-professional. Ashton’s eyes widened as he watched the cards become a blur in her hands. ‘Holy shit.’

‘My uncle ran a bar in Ireland and taught me how,’ she said, completely no-nonsense. ‘Now,’ she looked up, blue eyes bright and clear, ‘strip poker might get us in trouble, but everyone knows Texas Hold-em, right?’

Playing cards seemed to diffuse any lingering awkwardness between the two groups as it became every man for himself. They ended up meshing really well, Flo’s and Timmy’s patience and humor balancing out Saoirse’s and Ashton’s chaotic energy. Flo and Tyler talked about the latest art installations around the city and Nick tried to get Armie to engage more with Timmy.

Armie, always better alone than in a group, lost a bit of his usual confidence as his friends dominated the conversation. Nick and Tyler had endlessly berated him for it in the past; according to them, it made him seem standoffish and rude. He couldn’t help it, though, and regretted not taking more of an opportunity to chat with Timmy outside the bathroom, when it had just been the two of them. Now, he was surrounded by this boisterous group and he wished he could just sink into the floor. Having said that, outside the bathroom Timmy looked a little like he wanted to die immediately, so perhaps that hadn’t been the best place for a chat. 

Another two hours drifted by, with the bar staff trying to moderate drinks so that people didn’t get totally shitfaced whilst they were waiting, before the police officers finally made an announcement that it was safe to leave and that they would direct foot traffic out in groups of ten. Flo and Tyler immediately exchanged numbers as he promised to keep her posted on local exhibitions. Sersh did a final flourish with the deck of cards before passing it back to Ash. She winked at him and hopped off the stool, headed back toward the bar to settle her bill.

‘Thanks for the beers,’ Armie said before Timmy could follow Saoirse. He squeezed Tim’s shoulder a little harder than he had at the bathroom, trying to convey that he did enjoy spending time with Timmy and his friends even though he didn’t say much.

Timmy made a face, nose scrunching up a bit, and squirmed out from Armie’s hold. ‘No problem, thanks for inviting us over.’ Before Armie could get another word in, Timmy was up and joining his friends. Armie watched them leave, the group of cheerleaders one of the first to be ushered out of the bar. He watched until he could no longer see them in the melee of people.

**

‘So, did you get his number?’ Florence asked Timmy as they stepped outside. The three of them took deep breaths of air, glad to finally be outside after a few hours of breathing stale bar air (a mix of warm beer and stained soft furnishings).

‘Whose? Armie’s?’ Timmy asked, incredulous. ‘No, he’s a total dick.’

‘He is not!’ Sersh argued with a punch to Timmy’s arm, ‘He just seemed kinda shy!’

‘ _Ow_ , Sersh! He is! He barely said a fucking word all night and spent most of it glaring at the table. Weirdo.’ He linked arms with Florence and steered her away from Sersh. ‘ _Florence_ got Tyler’s number, though.’

Flo scoffed. ‘Fuck off, Chalamet, it was for _networking_ purposes, okay?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Timmy sing-songed. ‘As long as I don’t have to spend any more time with Armie, you network away, my friend. Now come on, I’m ready for bed like… two hours ago.’


	4. Hey Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A new chapter! Enjoy!

Their night on lockdown faded quickly to the background as Timmy got back to concentrating on schoolwork. The day after gameday was always a busy one: finishing essays, starting projects, reminding group project partners about their contributions, tackling that week’s readings. He, obviously, had a full course-load. He had exactly 3.5 months to declare his major and most of his notebooks were filled with lists of pros and cons. He was trying to do some sort of combination of Art, Theatre, English, and French Language/History, but Saoirse advised that a double major  _ and _ a minor could quickly bury Timmy under a load of coursework that he’d never get out of.

Nevertheless, Tim vowed to bust his ass in school. When she was a baby, his sister Pauline had immigrated from France with their parents. She, of course, got into the best performing arts/dance school in the country and was currently killing it at her first job at a prestigious dance studio in Manhattan. Timmy had received a full scholarship to Northwestern and, never one to disappoint his parents, dove headfirst into activities and schoolwork. He was proud to be the son of immigrants, even if they were white and spoke fluent English and had no issues assimilating in New York City. But he knew they gave up their lives in France, their families, and their friends so that their children could be afforded the best possible experiences.

Thankfully, Saoirse and Flo were in similar positions regarding their schoolwork. Sersh was an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing and Flo already declared a major in Fine Arts. The girls’ talents seemed to be endless: Saorise churning out novel after short story after poem and Florence’s entire dorm room was full of her latest projects. During her first semester, she dabbled in clay, pastels,  _ and _ fiber arts. At least Tim would never have to worry about finding art with which to decorate his apartment.

Cheer practice took up most mornings and evenings. The captains created rigorous schedules that still allowed for free time, but Timmy felt like most of his ‘free’ time was spent on the mats. Not like he cared; it was his favorite hobby and a great form of exercise. Plus he got to spend time with his best friends.

‘Ho-ly-fuck,’ Florence grunted as she slammed her tray onto the table. Her omelet wobbled and almost plopped right off. Timmy was sitting with Saoirse, quietly eating his chicken salad while Sersh munched on an apple between editing her latest piece.

‘What?’ Tim asked, sparing a glance up at Florence and noting her lightly flushed cheeks.

‘Guess who I  _ literally _ bumped into.’

‘Who?’ Sersh asked lazily. They usually had time for lunch together on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and that day was no exception. They had their usual table by the window, tucked away from the noisy football players and raucous soccer team.

‘Okay, three guesses.’

‘Martin from that frat party,’ Timmy offered, turning his attention back to his lunch.

‘Nope!’

‘Hmm…’ Saorise put down her apple, seemingly interested now. ‘The guy on the tennis team that complimented your backflip in the training room.’

‘Ha! No, I wish.’

‘Oh, that professor you had last semester who you wanted to dress in a silk robe and --’

‘ _ No _ !’ Florence cut off Timmy with a stern look and a swift kick under the table. ‘Jeeze, do you really not know?’

‘You haven’t given us much of a hint.’ Sersh's words were monotone, but Timmy could tell her interest was piqued.

‘Ugh, fine. Dark hair, dark eyes, sort of a dopey smile...a lil stocky.” At this, Florence bit her lip and wriggled her shoulders. When she received no response from her friends, she sighed exasperatedly. ‘Okay, fine! If you don’t get it after this  _ I swear _ . He has an older friend who  _ obviously _ wants to date Timmy…?’ She trailed off and waved her hand, clearly expecting realization to dawn on both Saoirse and Timmy. ‘Ashton! From the other night! I bumped into him coming into the dining hall. He was looking at his phone and I was braiding my hair and I just  _ smacked _ right into his chest.” She looked a bit flushed when she mentioned that and Tim makes a note of that.

‘Sorry,’ he said, interrupting her before she could go on. ‘Ashton  _ who _ ?’

‘Ohmygod seriously I don’t know how you even got into this school. Remember at the bar? Ashton and Tyler and Nick and  _ Armie _ , that fucking hottie who had his eyes all over you?’

‘Oh, right.’ Tim took another bite of chicken salad, his lunch suddenly much more interesting than a guy he forgot about literally the next day.

‘Ugh.  _ Anyway _ , he said he wants to hang out with us again. And he’d bring the guys too.’

This time, Saoirse piped up. ‘No way. I’m not hanging out with a bunch of older guys just because one of them  _ might _ be interested in Timmy. We already put up with going to all those frat parties with you.’

Florence actually whined. ‘But Armie is clearly so into Timmy! He’d jump Tim in a second if he had the chance, I just know it!’

‘Hi,’ Timmy said, giving a little wave, ‘still here, and I can hear you. And I agree with Sersh. Besides, I’m fucking swamped for eternity, I have like fifty papers due.’

‘Fine, you suck.’ 

‘See you tomorrow, darling.’ With that, Saoirse stood and picked up her now empty tray. ‘Toodles, lovelies,’ she sing-songed, kissing both Timmy’s and Flo’s heads on the way out.

‘Must’ve made a breakthrough on the chapter,’ Florence said, watching as Saoirse left the dining hall with a new bounce in her step.

‘So we’re still on for meeting at the library tomorrow, right?’ Timmy asked, brows raised.

‘Ugh, but Sigma Chi is having a party after The Red and The Light show. They’re even pregaming at the concert!’

‘You think I want to go to the Red and The Light concert?’ Tim asked, brows raising even higher.

‘I know, they’re a bit...unsavory.’ Florence wrinkled her nose, clearly thinking back to the night they binged all of the band's music videos, which had a lot of American flags, camo print, guns, and scantily clad women. ‘Fine. Tomorrow, library. But Saturday we’re going to every single house on frat row.’

Timmy smiled and leaned in to peck Florence’s cheek. ‘Of course. Never change, Flo. Never change.”

**

Armie would rather be  _ anywhere else. _ He fucking hated The Red and the Light. He fucking hated concerts. He fucking hated conservatives. And he fucking hated his dad, the lead singer of the god damned band. But when they were coming to Chicago to play on their tour, Armie’s dad immediately sent an email with details and backstage passes for Armie and his friends. It took much convincing from Nick and a few shots of tequila, but he agreed to go and see his dad, if only for a few minutes.

The concert was excruciating. The music fucking sucked if you asked Armie. It was loud and raunchy and disrespectful on so many levels. He, Ashton, Nick, and Tyler mainly stood near the bar, supplying one another with strong drinks. Nick cut Armie off toward the end of the set, and Armie was grateful that his best friend had his back. He knew seeing his dad wouldn’t be a happy occasion, but if Armie were plastered it  _ definitely _ wouldn’t end well.

Somehow, after the last song, two bouncers approach Armie and his group, asking them to follow back to the band. He was sure they’d been standing there the entire time, keeping an eye on Armie at his dad’s behest.

He walked along the dark corridor, following the heavyset bouncer who was a few paces in front; Nick was somewhere not far behind him, whereas Tyler and Ashton had both disappeared to go home. They had no real desire to come backstage now that the concert was over. Nick was still with him, which he was grateful for. He figured he could use the moral support. This was the first time he would see his dad in  _ many _ months, and whilst he didn’t know what to expect, he knew  _ exactly _ what he was going to find. He knew that sounded stupid, but deep down he was hoping that somehow, even after all these years, he would find something unexpected when they got to where they were going.

Those hopes lasted as long as it took for the bouncer to walk them to the end of the corridor, and the room that was clearly his dad’s overly large dressing room. Music was pouring out from under the door, and he could hear a cacophony of voices inside. It had been about forty minutes since the show had ended: forty minutes for him to find the bouncer, get his pass and ID verified, and then get back there, and in that time his dad had already managed to get the party started. He looked back at Nick, who simply raised his eyebrows once and shrugged. Armie sighed and turned as the bouncer opened the door.

He was immediately greeted by blaring music (their own tracks,  _ of course _ ), the band slouched over various couches and seats, roadies and technicians in here as well – a pretty much exclusively male crew. The only girls there were clearly groupies or women hoping to hook up with band members for clout. He spared a glance at a young redhead draped over the drummer and wondered if she was there of her own volition or being paid. Armie knew his dad and bandmates often employed sex workers, which was fine with Armie, just as long as they were compensated properly for their work, but he’d rather be oblivious to the details. He didn’t have anything against call girls, they provided a service and got paid well for it – work was work. He just thought it was telling when the only female company a group sought out was that which they paid for (and therefore could dismiss when they wanted to).  He glanced over at the rider and was unsurprised to see a very conspicuous mound of a white substance, along with a copious amount of alcohol. Jesus, if the cops busted this place they’d find enough snow to build themselves a snowman. Then again, his dad thought he was probably immune to that, what with being one of the richest men in America and a country-rock legend to boot. No cop was going to touch him, and the rest of the crew and hangers-on were banking on that too.

It was exactly what Armie remembered from all the other times he’d been backstage, even when he was a child. He was about to turn and go, only three seconds after arriving, when his dad’s voice boomed out across the room – loud enough to be heard even without the microphone it was so often attached to.

‘Armie, my boy!’

The sea of leather-clad roadies and female flesh parted to reveal his less-than-impressive father. He honestly didn’t know what women still saw him; his money, probably. He was still tall, obviously, and relatively trim from all those hours of jumping and running about on stage. That and the fact that he seemed to mostly subsist on a liquid diet. Although, he was definitely showing his age: the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened, his skin had a slack and pallid look to it. He gained a new scar at the side of his mouth; Armie wondered how he’d got it.

The next thing he knew he got pulled into his dad’s favorite hug. Over the years, he had termed it the bro-no-hug, it was a bro-hug; an embrace that wasn’t really an embrace, a clap on the shoulder, and just enough distance that there could be absolutely no “gay energy” in the hug. That was his dad’s words, not his. He used this hug with everyone, even Armie, his own son.

Nothing had changed.

He let out a deep sigh as his dad let him go; any false hopes and expectations falling away in that instant.

‘I can’t stay long,’ was the first thing he said as he looked his dad in the eye.

His dad huffed out a laugh, ‘Is that the first thing you’re going to say to your dad you’ve not seen in nearly a year?!’

Armie didn’t say anything, just shrugged in a half-hearted sort of way, not bothering to explain any further. After all these years he wasn’t sure his father deserved it.

‘Come, sit,’ his dad gestured to where he’d been before, a couch where another girl was sat, twisting her long hair around her finger, looking extremely bored with the proceedings now that she was alone.

Armie sat down gingerly next to her, not wanting to invade her personal space. There wasn’t really any space for Nick to sit down, so he stood awkwardly at the side of the couch, not really sure where to put himself.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ said Armie’s dad, reaching over for his previously discarded bottle of whiskey and taking a swig.

Armie shrugged, not wanting to answer, not wanting to seem that every time he got an invite from his dad to meet up, there was some small part of him that hoped against hope that things would be different. Because that was just pathetic, right?

‘Did you enjoy the show?’

‘Yeah, it was good,’ said Armie, ‘We had a good spot.’

‘Made sure of it,’ said his dad.

Armie shifted as the girl next to him moved to place her thigh over his, clearly deciding that he was a worthwhile distraction whilst no one else was paying attention to her. He half turned to push her off him. Not hard, but just enough to slide her leg off his. The girl looked put out

‘Awww come on Armie, don’t be like that, is Sasha not to your liking?’ his dad laughed to his other side.

_ Sasha _ , his dad actually knew this one’s name. Clearly she was more than just some random who’d been hanging around by the stage door for this performance. Maybe she’d been traveling along with them.

‘Not tonight, thank you,’ he said gently to the girl.

‘It’s alright Sasha,’ his dad said, ‘It’s not your fault. Armie likes to think that women aren’t his thing.’

Armie sighed and shook his head, looking up at Nick, who just cocked his head towards the door.

‘I don’t really want to have this argument with you right now, Dad,’ said Armie putting his hands on his knees, as if about to get up.

‘I’m not having an argument,’ said his dad, raising his hands as if in surrender, ‘I just think you’re being mean to Sasha.’

‘Well, you comfort her then,’ said Armie, getting up. He’d spent exactly ten minutes in his dad’s company, and that was plenty to tide him over for the next eight months, or longer.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said to Nick.

Nick nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

‘Still not his boyfriend, eh then Nick?’

The words were flung after them as they walked away. Armie stopped and stiffened, his shoulders tight.

‘Come on man, forget it,’ said Nick, grabbing him by the arm. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Armie tried to listen to his friend’s words, to hear them above the noise yelling at him in his head to turn around and punch his dad square in the jaw. It was what he deserved. But then he knew there would be a pile on, and he’d probably leave here with at least one black eye, if not more.

‘Don’t do it, man,’ Nick said, steering him towards the door. Now that he’d decided not to punch his father in the face, the room felt suffocating, and all he wanted to do was get out of it. The nine steps to the door felt like they took an eternity to pace, but the air on the other side, once he’d gone through it, felt so clean. The smell of booze, smoke, and other less than salubrious substances fell away.

‘Dude, I’m sorry,’

That was the first thing Armie said as he turned to Nick.

‘Don’t worry about it, Arms,’ said Nick, rubbing his shoulder gently, ‘Your dad is a dick. We know that.’

‘I know,’ said Armie, the fight falling out of him, along with most of the energy that he had, ‘I’m sorry I thought, even now, that things might be different.’

‘Let’s just get out of here.’

They didn’t need directions on how to get out; simply followed the fire escape signs to the nearest exit.

The cold night air seemed even fresher, despite they’d only spent mere minutes inside that pit. Armie still took a great lungful of it, as if breathing for the first time. The exit to the complex was nearby, just passed the tour buses that were waiting for them to finish up with the afterparty, and head off to wherever they were going next.

Armie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and strode away into the night.

**

Timmy was walking along the sidewalk with Flo after a late-night session in the library, trying to make some headway on their coursework.

He glanced over the road before they crossed, but then Flo caught his hand, gesturing just past where he was looking.

‘Hey, isn’t that Nick and Armie from last weekend?’

He looked where she was pointing, spotting the two men she had seen, striding quickly away from the major concert venue in town.

‘D’you reckon they went to the show?’

‘I dunno, doesn’t seem like they would be the type,’ said Flo with a shrug.

‘We were only with them for a few hours,’ said Timmy rolling his eyes, ‘For all we know, Armie could be into that kind of thing.’

‘You said you were 75% sure he was gay -,’

Timmy snorted, ‘More like 95%.’

‘Then I’m pretty sure he’s not into The Red and The Light. They’re known for the exact type they bring along to their shows, and Armie and Nick do not seem like that.’

Timmy shrugged, ‘Whatever, it’s not that important. Come on, it’s cold, let’s get back. What Armie and his friends get up to in his free time is none of my business.’

Flo made a face, and then shrugged as they finally crossed the road, heading towards a warm room and a soft bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know what you think!! Much love xx


End file.
